If I Die Young
by TheAtlantisGirl
Summary: If I die young... I want to have at least made a difference to someone; been something to someone. Life's not always like that though. When life takes its own course sometimes we just don't get to choose. All I have is this feeling inside of me. It's the only thing I've ever known. I was meant for something greater. Daryl/OC
1. Prologue

}{…if I die young…}{

_I'm going to die..._

My eyes darted from left to right at the ensuing chaos. Fires burned and raged as the thick, black smoke rose into the crystalline sky like a signal. Shots from guns rang throughout the air, echoing like the ticking hands of a clock in a quiet room. Glass was breaking. Car brakes were screeching. People were screaming. Somewhere there was a girl screaming, calling out a name.

"Ana!" It was my name they were calling. "Help! HELP! ANA! DADDY!"

My eyes searched for her desperately. I couldn't tell one person from the next. They blurred together in streaks of vibrant blues, blacks and reds. I had to find her though. I needed to make sure she was alright, but everything was so blurry; so fuzzy. I couldn't see her and slowly her voice began to drift away. She kept screaming. Just screaming, high pitched, distressed, desperate… drifting away. I tried to speak, to call back to her. All I could do was blink, listening to my shallow breathing as I stumbled a few feet forward. Soon all I could hear was my breathing as I stumbled a few feet forward. I tasted blood on my tongue, smelled the iron in my sinuses.

"Ana! Where are you!?" Someone else called for me. It was a deeper voice; richer. They were afraid. Everyone was afraid. "Ana! ANA!

I tried to speak again, but all that left my mouth were tiny beads of blood that trailed down my chin and dropped to the asphalt beneath my feet. I watched the beads drop. I watched them as though in slow motion. They hit the asphalt, mushroomed and then formed small puddles, inching towards one another to create bigger puddles.

"ANA!" I lifted my gaze and looked for him. All I could see were people running, screaming; strangers, friends… somewhere in there was my family… They all looked the same. Abstract forms covered in ash and dirt and blood…

I tried to take another step, but collapsed to my knees as my world crashed around me. My safe little world was burning. I sank further, shoulders and arms slumping. My eyes drifted towards the clear, blue autumn sky. It was pristine. No ash or smoke had tainted it yet. There were wisps of soft white clouds floating by without a care of what was happening beneath them. I could feel a warmth sliding over me like a numbness to the world; to the pain the truth. I look to my hands and see the red dripping from my skin. I dare not look for the source. I didn't want to be reminded of what had happened.

There was too much blood on my hands and not enough time to wash it away.

I lift my gaze to the sky once more. I could see a blinding white, growing brighter in the sky by the second until I could see nothing else. It consumed me. I could hear nothing but my slowing heartbeat ringing in my ears like a countdown; like a death toll.

**_Lub-dub. Lub-dub._**

_I'm going to die…_

**_..lub..dub..lub..dub.._**

_I'm too young…_

**_…lub…dub…lub…dub…_**

_I'm not ready…_

**_…..lub…..dub.….lub.….dub.…._**

_There are still things I want to do…_

**_….lub…...dub…...lub…...dub…..._**

_How had it come to this?_


	2. Chapter 1: Shot Heard Round The World

}{…if I die young…}{

Somewhere overhead a bird chirped happily. A hawk, I think. I opened my eyes and stared up at the tree tops. The sun peeked through, warming the skin on my face and chest. A breeze blew through the forest and tossed the leaves. I watched as one broke free from a branch and floated down towards me. It landed on my abdomen gently. I leaned on my elbows and stared down at the green intruder. I picked it up by its stem and twirled it in my fingers. It wasn't even beginning to brown yet. It was soft and had that familiar rubbery texture of a new bud. It would die young.

I toss the leaf away and sit up, resting my left elbow on my bent knee. I looked around at my hovel of a camp. I pick myself up and begin to pack up. I never stayed anywhere more than a night. It wasn't safe to. Not anymore.

I pack my hiking bag up tight, making sure the sleeping bag wasn't going to get loose if I had to run suddenly. I look back at the remnants of my disturbance. To the untrained eye it looked simply like forest, but to a hunter or a tracker they would know that someone had been here. Disturbed earth, moved leaves, broken twigs.

I turned my back on the spot I had called home for the night and began my move north. I was following the highway, but the highway wasn't safe at night. There were too many places for _them_ to hide.

I stepped out from the safety of the trees and looked along the trail of broken dreams. Cars had long since been deserted, crashed, smashed, out of gas and unable to continue on their way out of the city. I had followed the highway since Florida. Jacksonville, actually. I didn't know where I was going, only that I was gone. I needed to. There was nothing left there for me; just broken memories.

I took a step onto the asphalt and looked back at the way I had come from. I could see nothing but road and cars. I move to one of the cars nearest me and try the handle. The back door opened and I climbed in, shutting the door behind me. I began to search for anything useful under the seats, in the pockets, the door. I found a half drunk bottle of water and a flattened granola bar. I opened the granola bar and forced myself to eat it and then drank the water, packing the empty bottle when I'm done.

I looked at the front dashboard and then squeezed through the two seats, looking for anything else. I looked in the glove compartment and found a lighter, engraved with the initials E.K. I flicked the top open and tried it. It worked. I pocketed it and continued looking. There were papers and tissues, good kindling for a small fire. Not much else.

I got out of the car and walked to the driver's seat. I hit the trunk button and heard it pop open. I looked around the highway in search of anything that moved. Nothing. I moved to the back of the car and lift the trunk open. I pulled out a bag, one that could keep cold things cold and hot things hot. I also took the bungee cord. I would find some kind of use for it eventually.

I packed my pack and moved on down the road. I checked a few more cars for anything useful; two bottles of water, a bottle of Mountain Dew, a kid sized box of animal crackers, an opened box of strawberry PopTarts, Fig Newton's in a Ziploc bag, some more granola bars, half a roll of flower printed duct tape, some pipe cleaners, two spools of thick ribbon, fishing line, a travel sewing kit, a pack of gum, some paperclips and nails, ChapStick, an opened bottle of Tylenol, a half used Z-Pac, a paperback unabridged edition of Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, and a blue ballpoint pen.

In this world, anything you could find became useful in one way or another. So you took it: no matter what it was. Even the pipe cleaners and paperclips could come in handy in a pinch. They could be used as ties for something; picks. I had a lot of odds and ends in my pack. They were nifty at times to have. I would rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

I moved on, unable to carry anything else. I had to navigate the sea of broken cars and trailers, climbing, pushing and ducking. At midday I decided to take a break and climbed on top of a semi-truck that had long since been ransacked. I pulled out a PopTart and munched on it, watching for movement. A pack of vultures circled up ahead in the sky. Obviously there was something there dead or dying. I watched as they dived, listening to their squalling. Suddenly, my strawberry PopTart no longer seemed appealing with its insides oozing out the crust. I packed what was left away and pulled out my map along with the red sharpie I had used to mark my journey.

I had travelled a long way; 346 miles up US-23 N. I put an 'X' over Atlanta, indicating that I had found nothing there, and then drew a line to about where I sat on the highway. I pull the cap from my mouth and place it back on the sharpie. I shove everything back into my pack and then climb down off the semi. I begin walking again, heading towards where the vultures huddled around a dead dog. I walked around the scene and headed along on my way.

When dusk started to settle I departed from the road and headed into the woods. I walked until I found a good enough spot and sat down. I leaned back against a tree, my pack tightly at my side and closed my eyes. The woods at least looked the same before everything happened. Quiet, expansive, empty…

A shot rang out in the distance. My eyes shot open and I instantly stood up on guard. The woods were quiet a moment and then a scream followed. I grabbed my pack and pulled it on, slipping out the machete from where I had attached it to the side.

"Carl!" The voice shouted again from my right. I ran, not thinking of what I may find or whether I wanted to find whoever they were. I ran through a set of tall bushes and stumbled to a stop. There before me were three men all huddled over a boy, who lie on the ground with a shotgun wound in his abdomen. My eyes located the shotgun in the hands of a heavy-set man in a ball cap. He looked frightened; guilty.

"Put the machete down!" A man in a black shirt, cargo pants and a rifle pointing at my head shouted at me. I said nothing and dropped the machete, raising my hands before me in a gesture to signal I wasn't a threat.

"I might be able to help, but I have to see the wound. I have a medical kit in my pack." My eyes darted to the boy who was unmoving. I could see the blood soaked spot on his shirt, a deep crimson. "Just let me help."

The man who knelt next to the boy with a sheriff's uniform on, threw his arm up and grabbed the rifle from his friend. They locked eyes and nodded at one another in a silent agreement. Slowly, he lowered his rifle with a defeated look. He gave a single nod to me and I moved quickly to the boy. I knelt next to him and went for his shirt, pulling it back. I had seen gunshot wounds before, plenty of times when this whole thing began. Buckeyes were the hardest to work on. So many little pieces to try to find and then remove.

"Shit…" I cursed under my breath when I saw the wound. This boy needed a doctor. A proper doctor. My eyes drifted to the man holding the shotgun. His eyes locked on mine. He was silently begging me to fix his mistake. I looked back at the boy, observing his face. I opened my pack and pulled out the EMT kit I had taken from an abandoned ambulance way back. The man with the rifle watched me carefully, inspecting everything that was in the EMT kit.

"You a doctor?" The man in the black shirt with the rifle asked, watching while I worked.

"Not the type of doctor you're thinking of." I replied and pulled out several pieces of gauze. I poured alcohol over the wound and then wiped what blood I could away. There were several entry wounds. This boy still had buckeyes in him, no doubt. I pulled out more gauze and applied pressure to the wound. I tapped it and then looked to the sheriff, the father I presumed. "We need to move him somewhere."

"Where? There's no hospitals anymore. Or haven't you noticed the world's gone to shit?" The man with the rifle was upset, confused. I could hear it in his voice. I looked at him a moment and then looked back at the sheriff.

"Do you have a camp? Somewhere safe you've been staying?"

"We did. Not anymore." He replied, staring blankly at his son. I looked to the man with the shotgun in question.

"A house; a farm. It's a little ways up the highway. There's a doctor there." He replied and I shook my head.

"Speak up a little sooner the next time you choose to shoot a child." I growled and looked at the sheriff. "Get your son. We're moving him to that house now."

I quickly packed up my medical kit and packed my bag, shouldering it. I grabbed my machete and moved back to the sheriff who hadn't moved yet. I placed a hand on his shoulder and bent down to look at him.

"We need to move him. Pick up your son." I spoke gently, but hurriedly. There wasn't any time to waste. The sheriff picked up his son while I got a rough idea where this farm was from the man with the shotgun.

"Shane, you have to go find Lori and tell her what's happened. Bring her to the house." The sheriff told the man with the rifle. I caught Shane looking at me.

"You get them there in one piece. You understand?" He raised his rifle slightly at me, menacingly. I nodded and took the man with the shotgun by the arm, beginning to drag him along. I grip the machete tightly in my right hand, knuckles turning white.

"You're leading the way." I told him and let go of his arm. We began running, knowing that there was no more time.


	3. Chapter 2: A Child In Need

}{…if I die young…}{

The house wasn't anywhere in sight.

We had been running for what seemed like an eternity. We passed trees and fields and fences, but there was no house. The man with the shotgun was falling behind, heaving and gasping for air because of his size. The sheriff ran ahead with his dying son in his arms. His shirt was bloody, his hands and arms bloodied. I turned around to look at the man with the shotgun. He was getting on my nerves and at the same time I felt sympathy for him.

I believed he was genuinely remorseful for what had happened. I believed that he hadn't meant to do it. It was an accident; wrong place at the wrong time. However, would the sheriff and his friend see the same later if the boy lived? What would happen if the boy died…?

"Come on." I grabbed the man's arm and tried to pull him along. He collapsed to his knees, going almost purple in the face. "Come on! Get up!"

The sheriff stopped, hearing me shout and looked back at us. I knew he didn't have time for this.

"How far!?" He called out to us, "HOW FAR!?"

"Just up ahead! A half mile that way!" The man called back. "Talk to Hershel! He'll help the boy!"

I shook my head and let go of him. I left him there to catch his breath and ran to catch up to the sheriff, who ran with his dying son in his arms. We ran through several fields and over a hill before the white house came into view. As we neared people ran out from the house and on to the porch. My loose grip on my machete tightened, seeing one of the persons with a bat at their side.

"Was he bitten?" The older man called out, seeming to be in charge of the group. I looked to the sheriff. I had only looked at the shotgun wound. I hadn't bothered to think the boy had been bitten.

"Shot. He was shot by your man." The sheriff replied, slowly to a stop at the bottom of the steps to the house.

"Otis?" A woman asked hurriedly in surprise. The sheriff ignored her.

"He said to ask for Hershel, is that you?" The sheriff nodded his head at the older man, who nodded and came down the steps in a hurry. I walked up beside the sheriff and holstered my machete, seeing that they didn't mean to harm us.

"Get the boy inside now." Hershel spoke quickly, getting a glance at the blood.

Everything seemed to happen in a blur. We were inside, people were yelling to each other, blood was on everyone's hands. I dropped my pack, telling them to take the EMT kit and then ran outside. I need air. I couldn't breathe. I looked out at the fields and spotted a mass heading straight to the house. It was the man with the shotgun, Otis and the other one, Shane. The front door to the house opened and the Sheriff came out. They met at the porch.

It didn't register to the sheriff that Shane wasn't supposed to be there. He was supposed to find Lori, whom I assumed was his wife and the boy's mother. I noticed and it made me suspicious.

"He still alive?" Otis asked, out of breath. "Is he still alive?"

The sheriff didn't answer. So, Otis looked to me for confirmation. I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head and looked at the sheriff. He ran a hand over his face, unknowingly spread the blood of his son over his skin. I reached into my cargo pants and pulled out a stash of tissues I had found on the highway. I handed them to the sheriff, who finally saw the blood on his hands.

Shane looked at me and nodded slightly before looking back at his friend. They didn't say anything. I guess they didn't need to or didn't know what exactly to say. Shane just followed the sheriff inside and so did I and Otis.

It was quiet like a funeral almost. Everyone was in one room where the boy lay on the bed. Hershel was putting pressure on the boy's wound while a girl was fixing an IV drip up to the bed.

"Rick, do you happen to know his blood type?" Hershel asked, raising his gaze from the wound. The sheriff, Rick, nodded his head and took a moment to answer.

"Same as mine. "A" positive." He replied, his eyes never leaving his son's unconscious form. Hershel looked back at the boy and lifted the pillowcase from where he was applying pressure to the wound.

"That's fortunate then." He mumbled, placing the pillowcase back over the wound. "Don't wander now. I'm gonna be needin' you."

Hershel looked to Otis, "What happened?"

"I was…trackin' a buck." Otis began, seeming to still be in shock over what he had done. "Bullet went through it. Hit the boy."

"Buck slowed the bullets. Did not go through the boy clean, however." Hershel began to surmise, looking over the wound again. "Now, I can get the fragments out. I'm counting six."

"Lori…Lori doesn't know. My wife doesn't know…" Rick murmured over and over as new tears began to form. I looked to Shane, observing how he reacted to what Rick said. After all, he had been assigned in the woods to go and retrieve her.

_Why didn't you get his wife…? Why did you turn back…?_

I suppose he felt my stare and looked to me. Something didn't look right in his eyes. I didn't break contact. I stared long and hard as Rick continued to murmur. Shane broke my gaze and placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. With a few soft words spoken, he led him out of the room to the living room. They sat down on the couch, both with elbows on their knees and a hand over their mouth.

I listened to them talk softly as I watched Hershel work. I quickly learned that they were partners, that they were missing a little girl, that Rick was blaming himself for everything.

Suddenly, the house was full of screams as the boy had woken up as Hershel began to remove the bullet fragments. Rick and Shane came running to the bedroom. I moved out-of-the-way as quick as I could.

"He needs blood." Hershel was so calm. Rick was ushered over to the bedside, sleeve pulled up and his arm being readied. Then the screams died away. The boy went limp, head rolled to one side.

"Hey," Shane started looking from the boy to Hershel quickly for an explanation, "What's happened? What's going on?"

"He passed out." Hershel spoke gently as he pulled forth from the boy's abdomen a fragment. "One down."

An hour went by. Rick sat in a chair besides his son, hooked up to a primitive blood transfusion machine; a jar with cords and needles. Some color had returned to the boy's face at least. Hershel had removed only one fragment. There were still five to go.

"Lori," Rick started up, looking to Shane who stood by the door. I sat out in the living room. I could see little of what was in the bedroom. "Lori, she needs to know what's happening."

I heard footsteps and shuffling. Shane and Rick came out of the room. I looked up at them as Rick sat down on the last step of the stairs. He looked worn, drained. Shane placed his hands on his hips and looked to us; Maggie, Otis and I.

"He's stable for now." He spoke softly and looked to Rick.

"Lori." Rick murmured. Shane knelt next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know, but you ain't goin' nowhere. I'll break your legs. You know that right?" Shane was serious. Everyone could feel it in his voice. "I'll take care of it."

My eyes locked on Shane. I didn't like this man. He was already a liar in my eyes; dishonest, untrustworthy. My guess was that Rick had no idea. That his boy had no idea, his wife. He was fooling them, but it wasn't my place. I didn't know these people, any of them.

The door to the room opened and Hershel emerged. In his hands was a towel he was using to dry them off from being washed.

"He's outta danger for the moment." He looked to Rick, "I still need to remove those other fragments. However, his belly's distended, his pressure is droppin', which means there's internal bleedin'. A fragment musta nicked one of the blood vessels."

Rick gave a slow nod. Nothing was really sinking in. He was in shock, as he should be.

"I need to open him up, find the bleeder and stitch it and he can't move in there. I mean at all. If he reacts the same as before, I'll sever an artery and he'll die." Hershel paused, looking Rick over, giving him a minute to comprehend what he was saying. "I'll need to put him under. During which he won't be able to breathe on his own. Same bad results."

Rick's demeanor changed. He looked to Shane and surprisingly to me as if for confirmations of what he heard was indeed true.

"What will it take?" Rick's voice sounded defeated.

"You need a respirator." I jumped in, taking a step forward. "What else?"

"The tube that goes with it. Some surgical supplies, drapes, sutures." Hershel began listing things. Otis walked up beside me. I glanced at him and then looked back at Hershel.

"If you had all that you could save him?" Rick sounded disbelieving of Hershel and his requests.

"If I had all that I could try." Hershel corrected. He wasn't about to promise anything.

"Where's the nearest hospital?" I asked, looking around the room at everyone.

"The nearest one went up in flames months ago." Otis explained while shaking his head. Hershel just stared at him. A light bulb went off in Otis' head. "The high school. The FEMA shelter. But Hershel… the place was overrun the last time I saw it."

_Of course it was…_

"Is it too late to take back what I said about 'leaving the rest to me'?" Shane asked, trying to joke.

"I hate you going alone." Rick shook his head at him. I looked between the two a moment and then took a step closer.

"He's not." I spoke up and looked to Shane. "I'll go with him."

They both looked to me. I must have seemed crazy. The random, mystery woman who appeared from the woods with a machete, helped his son, helped him get to a safe spot where a doctor was and now volunteered to retrieve medical supplies that may or may not be sitting within a horde of zombies.

"I haven't even asked your name." Rick turned completely to face me. I licked my lips and swallowed hard. No one had asked me that in a long time. Then again, it wasn't like there were too many people around to ask it.

"So don't." I straightened a bit, turned off by the question. "It would only matter if I came back alive anyways. Wait till we get back. Then ask again."

Rick slowly nodded his head. I suppose he understood or perhaps he just didn't care. His boy was lying on his  
>death-bed after all. I don't know why I wouldn't tell them my name really. Maybe I was afraid too? Maybe it would be like jinxing myself in some way.<p>

_Because I'm not the same girl... that name doesn't belong to me anymore…_

"We'll need a map." I pipe up, looking to Hershel.

"No you won't. I'm going too." Otis volunteered from beside me. I looked at him and nodded my head. I understood why he wanted to go. A way to help fix what he had caused. "It ain't but five miles. I'm responsible. I'm not gonna sit here while these two take it on alone."

"You sure about this?" Shane asked carefully. He obviously wasn't too keen to the idea. Mainly because of how hard it was for Otis to run. It was horrible to think about, but you had to these days. Otis could be a potential setback if we found trouble.

"Do you two even know what any of the things he asked for look like?" Otis asked, looking between us.

"No."

"Yes." Shane's eyes landed on me, hearing my response. I did know what they looked like. Very well in fact. I assume it made me seem all the more mysterious since I wasn't a medical doctor like he had first guessed. He must wonder then how I knew what to look for.

"Where is Lori?" The girl with brown hair asked, stepping up to Rick. Maggie, I think her name was. "Your wife?"

"In the woods, along the high way." Rick replied. Maggie nodded her head and looked to Hershel.

"I'm gonna go find her and bring her back here." She explained. Hershel nodded his head and in a moment she was out the door and gone on horseback. I took the Rugar SR40 from my pack and attached my holster for it to my right hip along with the double magazine holder on the other hip. I then pulled out the machete and my flashlight, making sure to look over the ankle holster with my bowie-knife in it on my right ankle. I got looks from some of them, mainly the people from the farm. Rick and Shane seemed unimpressed. I suspected they had been on the road longer. Knew the life one had to live to survive.

We left a few minutes later. I sat between Shane and Otis in the old blue Ford pick-up they had sitting on their farm. We drove off with Hershel and Rick standing on the porch as night started to fall. The ride was long and silent. I briefly wondered why I was doing this for people I didn't even know, but then it made sense. At least in my mind it did.

"Why _are_ you doing this?" Otis asked quietly. Shane had explained to him that they didn't know me. That I was just some random girl who came springing out of the bushes. Got Otis to wonder why I hadn't taken off yet. I didn't owe any of them anything.

"I see people in need and I have an overwhelming compulsion to help." It was the only answer I was going to give them. It was all they needed. The high school came into sight. Fences barricaded the entire property. Abandoned cars lay motionless around the perimeter.

"This is where we get out." Shane commanded and stopped the truck, turning the engine off. We hoped out of the truck and crouched our way to the fence. My heart nearly stopped. The school yard was filled with the undead. It seemed the fences did a better job of keeping them in than out.


	4. Chapter 3: No Name Anymore

}{…if I die young…}{

I sat on the railing of the porch with my back perched against a support beam. I stared out into the distance, sun blaring in my eyes, burning my face. Wisps of my blonde hair trailed over my skin in the breeze. I picked my nails in nervousness, caught in between a rock and a hard place.

We had gotten back very early in the morning from the run to the high school. Our ride back to the farm had been so long… so quiet. Rick, his wife, Maggie, and Hershel greeted us in the yard. We had gotten the medical supplies Hershel needed, but at a steep price; Otis' life.

Shane and I hadn't spoken a word to each other about the events that had unfolded. He had immediately gone to the bathroom and taken a shower. I had followed suit after him, changing into clean clothes that Maggie had given me.

I understood what Shane had done without having seen it for myself. I understood why he had done it, what it had done to him. I had seen it in his eyes when we met at the truck, when I saw his limp and when he refused to say anything to me.

He had killed Otis to save himself.

My eyes turned to where Shane and a few others were collecting rocks from the yard and placing them into a wheelbarrow. Shane had shaved his head to cover up the fact that he had a bald spot, a place where hair was ripped out. I didn't know whether to condone or condemn. This world wasn't the same as it once was. People weren't the same. We had to adapt to survive or perish along with it.

I heard a motorcycle off in the distance and spotted a car and an RV coming up the long road to the house. I guessed they were the rest of Rick's group. He hadn't stopped talking about them this morning. They stopped in the front yard and tuned their engines off. Rick and Lori came out from the house with a man named T-Dog, who had appeared last night while Shane and I were gone with a man named Glenn.

I looked over the two groups and observed the way they held themselves, how they reacted with one another, to one another. An older man with a cap and a tropical printed shirt spoke first, "How is he?"

"He'll pull through." Lori responded with happiness swarming her face. "Thanks to Hershel and his people."

"And Shane." Rick looked around for Shane. He spotted him off to the side where he seemed to be hiding himself. "We would have lost Carl if not for him."

Shane turned his eyes to me. There was something on his face; something he was trying to portray to me, a message of some sorts.

"And of course for you." Rick's voice caught me off guard. My head snapped around to him, my eyes locking on his gaze. He turned around and faced me, Lori at his side and the others looking to me. My eyes trailed from one to another. "You came back alive."

My eyes returned to Rick.

"So, what's your name?" He asked and placed his hands on his hips. He had a small smile on his lips that reached his eyes. I didn't know what to say. I licked my lips nervously and kept quiet.

"Well?" Rick gave a laugh, seeing that I was withdrawing and uncomfortable. "Come on now. You helped save my son. I need a name so that I can thank you properly."

"I don't have one anymore." I hopped off the railing and went inside the house before anything more could be said. I found my pack that had been pushed into a corner and picked it up. I set it on the couch and began to rummage through it. I didn't really know what I was looking for. I needed something to do; to busy myself.

I found the book I had taken from one of the deserted cars along the highway; Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I looked over the back, reading the short blurb and then looked at the drawing on the front. It depicted a dark, stormy sky with birds in flight and a lush green, tropical foliage. I tapped my fingers against it lightly and then threw my pack to the ground. I sat on the couch with my legs crossed beneath me, shoes scattered on the floor and began to read.

A little while later, Hershel stepped back into the house. He spotted me on his couch sitting so relaxed and approached.

"We're gonna be havin' a ceremony for Otis in a few minutes." He began as I lifted my gaze from the page I was on. "If you wanted to pay your respects."

I nodded slowly and he nodded back. He walked away and into a room that I assumed was his bedroom. He shut the door and locked it behind him. I closed the book and let it rest in my lap while I looked out the window to my left. I watched the others standing in the yard. Rick was hugging the older man. Lori was hugging a woman with cropped grey hair, who seemed she hadn't slept in a week.

_It must be nice to have people to care about…_

I looked back at the book again, studying the cover. It was mysterious and dark. The birds in flight against the stormy sky made the most impact next to the darkness at the center of the dirt path that led into the green foliage. It made me wonder about the world we now lived in. The darkness at the heart of it, in the hearts of us all.

I stood up when Hershel came out of his room in a suit, carrying the Bible. I walked out of the house behind him, leaving my book on the couch. We all walked down to where they had placed the stones they had been collecting earlier in a mound. They didn't have a body to bury so this would be Otis' grave.

"Blessed be God; father of our Lord, Jesus Christ." Hershel spoke and closed the Bible. He looked to the mound of stones and watched each person took a turn and placed a stone on the mound. "For the gift of our brother, Otis. Otis, who gave his life to save a child's; now, more than ever, our most precious asset."

From where I stood opposite of Hershel and the mound, my eyes found Shane. He stood across from me, eyes cast downwards at the ground. None of Hershel's words seemed to be reaching him until the mentioning of how Otis died in "grace." Shane's eye wandered to the mound of stones. I could see regret and overwhelming guilt.

"Shane?" Hershel called his name, bringing him out of some kind of trance. "Will you speak for Otis?"

"I'm not good at it." Shane spoke softly and looked away, back at the ground. "I'm sorry…"

"You were the last one with him." An older blonde woman spoke up; Otis' wife. "You shared his final moments. Please, I need to hear."

I could see that Shane wasn't going to speak. No matter how much the widow prodded him to. No matter how much she cried over her dead husband, whom she believed died in "grace."

"Please," Otis' wife began again. "I need to know his life had meaning."

Shane stared at her with his mouth open. I couldn't be sure that anything was getting through to him. He was gone. Something in him seemed to have cracked. He tried to say something, but only a mumble emerged. He looked away, his eyes darting from left to right, lingering on nothing.

"Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free. I'm following the path God laid for me. I took his hand when I heard his call. I turned my back and left it all." I speak up suddenly and then lick my lips. "I could not stay another day: to laugh, to love, to work, to play. Tasks left undone must stay that way. I've found that peace at the end of the day. If my parting has left a void. Then fill it with remembered joy. A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss. Ah, yes… these things too I shall miss…"

I froze a moment. My eyes darted left and right, memories flooding my mind. I swallowed hard and shook the images away; the voices.

"Be not burdened with times of sorrow. I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow. My Life's been full. I savored much: good friends, good times, and a loved one's touch. Perhaps my time seemed all too brief. Don't lengthen it now with undue grief. Lift up your heart and share with me. God wanted me now. He set me free."

I tossed the stone I held between my hands and then walked towards the mound.

"Shane and I wouldn't be here if not for Otis." I stared at the mound a moment and then placed my stone on it. "His life and his death have meaning."

I walked back to my spot and clasped my hands in front of me. I dared to look at Otis' wife, who was crying silently. She mouthed a thank you as more tears raced down her cheeks. I then looked to Shane. He avoided eye contact, but I caught a glimpse of his eye here and there.

The ceremony broke up. Otis' wife stayed by his grave for some time after we had all dispersed. I watched her from the porch where I sat in a rocking chair. I rocked back and forth slowly, gnawing on the nail of my right thumb. My elbow rested on the arm of the chair while my legs were crossed, feet up off the ground.

I watched as Rick and Shane stood with Hershel, Maggie and two others by a car. One was a man with a crossbow and the other a blonde woman with a rifle over her shoulder. Maggie stretched out a map on the hood. I had no idea what they were speaking about and I wasn't too concerned.

After a few more minutes they separated. Shane walked to the RV with the blonde. Rick stuck around and spoke with Maggie and Hershel. The man with the crossbow walked off towards the motorcycle. Rick suddenly caught my eye and began to walk away from Hershel and Maggie. I inwardly cursed and looked away. He was heading straight for me.

"So, 'no name' is it?" Rick asked as he sat down on the top step of the porch. I knitted my eyebrows together in confusion.

"Earlier, you said you had no name anymore. You said that just before you ran for the hills." Rick explained. I hadn't realized I had been passive. I licked my lips for the umpteenth time today and looked away from him.

"I feel like an orphan that was never named." I explained and watched everyone walking around. Rick nodded his head and squinted against the dying light of the sun.

"But you do have a name."

"None of us are the same people we were since this whole thing started." I looked back at him. "I'm not the same girl. The girl I was… she's dead. She died a long time ago."

"You don't look like a dead girl to me." Rick gave a smile and for some reason it made me feel alright for the first time in a long while.

"You know what I meant."

"Yeah," Rick nodded his head and gave a small laugh as he turned away. "I know what you meant."

The man with the crossbow walked by the porch, catching both of ours' attention.

"Daryl!" Rick called out and got up from the step with his hat in hand. He walked over to him. "You okay on your own?"

"Better on my own. I'll be back before dark." He responded and marched off with his crossbow on his shoulder.

"Hey!" Rick called his attention back with a leader's confidence. "We got a base. We can conduct this search properly now."

"You got a point? Or are we just _chattin'_?" Daryl walked closer to him. I ceased my rocking and leaned forward to look at the scene. Daryl was acting like a little hard-ass.

"My point is, it lets you off the hook. You don't owe us anything." Rick's voice became sincere. Daryl shook his head and then walked off again.

"Yeah, well my other plans fell through." That was the last thing he said as he walked away. I lost sight of his red and white checkered shirt after a few more minutes. I got up from my seat and walked into the house, nearly bumping into Hershel.

"Those were some beautiful words you spoke today." He began, readjusting the small pack on his shoulder. I nodded slowly.

"They weren't mine. It was a poem I read a long time ago. It stuck with me." I explained and looked up at him. He nodded his head and gave a smile before walking outside. I found my pack and pulled out my machete and a SOG tactical tomahawk I had attached to the other side. They were both small and lightweight. Just as I preferred. The best part was that they didn't attract other zombies when I used them.

I rested the tomahawk through my belt and the brim of my pants on my left side. I had long since removed the handgun and magazines before I got in the shower. I didn't like guns. Never had. Doubted I ever would. I decided not to take it with me. I reached into my pack again and pulled out the Hot/Cold bag. I folded it and slipped it through my belt loop to hold on to it.

I needed some real food. The little things I picked up here and there wasn't going to be enough to sustain me. I wasn't about to rely on anyone here either for sustenance.

I stepped outside and found the yard empty. Everyone was walking about, doing their own things. I spotted the group up on a hill, looking into what appeared to be a well. I shook my head and then headed out into the woods.

I needed some time alone. I hadn't been around so many people in a long while and it was suffocating me. The woods were my sanctuary. I could find peace there.

_At least for a little while…_

* * *

><p>Hey, I wanted to let you all know that I will try to post a new chapter every <strong>THURSDAY NIGHT<strong>. I may miss here and there till December when the semester is over, but hang in there. This story is getting completed no matter what :)


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